


in hell there's heaven

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Acid tab, Alcohol, Drugs, Frank Ocean lyrics, Hallucinogens, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, House Party, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, POV Hinata Shouyou, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Supportive Nishinoya Yuu, University, hinata is such a fool in this fic bro what is he doing, hinata is tripping balls, hinata shouyou twerks, this fic is brought to you by: solo by frank ocean, this is a bit angsty but its mostly because of the drugs, you know some of these tags are wild but nothing that crazy happens in this LMAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: .Hinata is dirty dancing on top of a table. By himself.He doesn't even remember how he got up here, not really. Doesn't know how his legs, wobbly from the influence of countless drinks, carried him or how his mind, blurred from everything else he took, still manages to focus on one singular face in the crowd.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	in hell there's heaven

**Author's Note:**

> based off of the song solo by frank ocean
> 
> how many fics will i make based off of frank ocean songs jesus christ

Hinata is dirty dancing on top of a table. By himself.

He doesn't even remember how he got up here, not really. Doesn't know how his legs, wobbly from the influence of countless drinks, carried him or how his mind, blurred from everything else he took, still manages to focus on one singular face in the crowd.

Someone hands him a towel. Judging by the flash of hair—black and blond—and the brash volume of their encouragement, it's Nishinoya. He thinks it is. He's not really looking. He takes the towel and waves it over his head like a lasso, smiling and hollering because he is young. Because he can.

His shirt is tied up at his sternum so it looks like a crop top, and he's moving his hips in drunken, somewhat jerky circles. He probably looks anything _but_ sexy right now. He knows he's sweating, knows it gleams across every inch of exposed skin under the kitchen lights. His hair is probably a mess. It's probably sticking up at awkward angles, maybe even mushed on one side because earlier in the night he took a nap on the couch—too fucked up to keep his eyes open.

Despite it all, the audience enjoys it. There are smiles alight on everyone's faces, all eyes watching him as he puts the towel between his legs and grinds down on it. They cheer him on, hands either in the air or around cellphones, recording this fiasco, so they can post it on Snapchat later. Hinata knows he'll be embarrassed when he wakes up tomorrow and sees himself on every imaginable social media platform, but right now, there is no tomorrow.

There is just this. There is him, burning up on top of a kitchen table and there is a muted crowd and there is a boy he loves somewhere among them. Not muted or blurred. Vivid.

Hinata keeps zeroing in on him. He's not as loud as everyone else, but there is a small smile twisting slowly onto his face. He has intense eyes, deep blue like a stove flame. There are a lot of beautiful people at this party, but Hinata has only been able to think of one, the entire night.

The atmosphere burns with something heavy. The room is on fire, he thinks. It's in his chest, flame licking his ribs and running through his veins until he too, burns. His brain wanders. This place is hot enough to be hell, but in a weird way, it feels perfect. Dirty dancing for a room full of people, some who know and love him, and others who don't, he feels like he's floating above the clouds. Maybe this is the 'cloud nine' people talk about. Maybe it's heaven. A heaven in hell.

He slaps his own ass with the towel and the crowd erupts in a collective, satisfied shriek. His heart pumps with another bout of adrenaline. Somewhere in the crowd, there is a laugh that stands out. A low, rumbling, warm thing. Hinata doesn't see him laugh, but he knows it's him. His breath hitches, lungs left without air. He keeps going. Gets down on his hands and knees and gyrates on the tabletop. The crowd gets louder somehow. The number of phones in his face increases. He smiles wide, even though some people have their flash on and he's temporarily blinded by it all.

His consciousness seems to bleed between the present and some far off nowhere land. He drifts like he's a piece of plastic in the ocean, unsure of how he got there. He's alright with this, though. For now, he won't overthink his place here. Or in the universe. Later, he might, because being off an acid tab will do that to you, but for right now— _right now_ —

"Shouyou, you sexy motherfucker!" And yeah, that's definitely Nishinoya. His grin is way too big for his face, but it fits there just fine. His hair, usually upright and commanding attention, has fallen limp on his forehead. There's something green in his hands. He waves it around excitedly, and Hinata realizes then that it's cash.

Hinata sits up, smiling with his tongue sticking through his teeth, and pulls the waistband of his shorts away from his skin. He bats his eyelashes at Noya, who looks a little taken aback for a moment, before he's laughing again, putting the money there. Hinata lets the waistband snap back into place and gets up on his feet again, shaking his hips fervently to show off the five-dollar bill there.

Before he even knows what's happening, the crowd has followed in Nishinoya's footsteps, and nearly everyone is throwing money at him. Hinata giggles, catching bills between his fingers and winking at people who stick theirs in his shirt.

Beyoncé's Crazy in Love has begun blasting through the speakers and everyone is singing along, including himself. He's watched at least five hundred live performances of this same song, and he attempts to recreate the choreography, ignoring the way the table creaks underneath his weight, combined with the overenthusiastic force of his dance moves.

He feels it's wooden structure tremble beneath his feet, precarious like it might give in at any moment.

If he wasn't drunk and high at the same time, that would probably matter to him, but alas, he's hopelessly crossfaded and he feeling distinctly superhuman. Bigger than he really is. Larger than life.

He is Hinata Shouyou and he is young and in love and prone to being the center of attention, whether it's on a volleyball court or a house party.

He is invincible. _Unstoppable_.

He thinks the world could end right now, and he'd probably keep dancing. A meteor could set course for the earth, but he'd still be here, right on top of this table, _twerking_. Laughing. Sweating. Thinking.

He glances back at the spot Kageyama had been in before, eager and craving a reaction from him specifically, only to find a different face. A girl's face. Tender and curving jovially at the show he's putting on, but it's not the face Hinata wants to see.

_Where is Kageyama_?

He tries not to make his disappointment too obvious. The show must go on, after all. As he dances, his eyes scan the crowd, glancing from face to face, all of them pleasant, but not the one he's looking for.

Something cold settles in his stomach, and he wonders somberly if Kageyama left. It would make sense. He's not exactly what one would call a party animal. Not like Hinata. Did he push Kageyama too far? Did he make him uncomfortable?

He thinks back to earlier when they were getting ready. Kageyama's hands tugging at his shirt nervously and lip caught in his teeth as Hinata reassured him that everything would be fine, as long as they stuck together.

Together.

Did Hinata keep that promise? Were they together when Hinata followed Tsukishima and Yamaguchi to the bathroom to take a tab? Were they together when Hinata was playing drinking games with other party-goers? Or when he passed out for an hour on the couch?

That must be it. Kageyama must be fed up with him. That's why he left.

Hinata will have to find him tomorrow and apologize. A text won't be good enough. Hinata knows better. He left Kageyama _stranded_.

And now, this heaven in hell burns his heart until it shrivels up in his chest. He keeps dancing.

Even when he thinks of Kageyama trudging home in the darkness, hands shoved in his sweater pockets, he keeps dancing.

Even when someone rushes into the kitchen, and yells that the police are here he keeps—wait, what? The _police_?

Hinata stops dancing. The table stops wobbling. The music comes to an abrupt stop.

The room has erupted in chaos. No one is smiling. Everyone is running, pushing each other in a hurry to flee the scene. There are way too many illegal substances at this party for anyone to feel calm in the presence of a police officer.

Hinata jumps off the table, legs loose like gelatin, but vibrating with a horrible sensation when he hits the floor. He gasps harshly, and the sound of his pulse rips through his eardrums almost as loudly as the sirens outside.

He’s barefoot and only dressed in a twisted up shirt and shorts. He doesn’t know where his sweater is. He’s pretty sure his phone is in there, but there’s no time to look for it.

He runs out through the back screen door, along with at least fifteen other people, all of them breathing heavily and communicating amongst each other through panicked yelps and gestures.

Hinata feels cool grass blades tickle his feet as he dashes through the yard, their gentle caress soon turning to unforgiving concrete as he takes to the street. He runs until he can’t breathe or feel anything, until there’s no one but him and a neighborhood he doesn’t recognize, surrounded by tall trees that stretch up in shadows up to the night sky.

He curses to himself, body still shaking from the horrid combo of drugs and adrenaline and sheer panic.

He doesn’t even know where he is. How’s he supposed to get home?

_Where is Kageyama_?

He ventures a little farther, just until he reaches a park. If he were feeling up to it, he’d probably go in, risking his bare feet being pricked by mulch and sit on the swings, but he feels like utter shit, so instead, he sits on the curb. His shirt unties itself and falls, crumpled around his torso. He frowns.

Just twenty minutes ago he was having the time of his life. Now he’s here, cold and sad on a curb, feet numb from running and head spinning from intoxication.

He’s crying.

He doesn’t remember when he started, but once he realizes, with a start, he buries his face in his knees.

He didn’t have to take a tab tonight. He didn’t have to drink as much as he did. Smoke as much as he did.

He doesn’t know if he should regret it or not, since it was actually kind of nice, for a while. He should’ve considered that his trip would take a turn, though. With his psyche blown wide like this, he’s hyper-emotional. It’s difficult to get out of your head after taking a hallucinogen.

His gut sours and twists so hard he reels.

“Fuck,” He grunts to himself, feeling uneasy. His stomach makes an upset noise, and he feels it already, that weird fuzzy pressure building in his esophagus.

_Oh, god_.

He pukes on the concrete until he’s dry heaving. His body won’t stop convulsing, and he feels so lightheaded and twisted from the inside.

Okay, yeah, he regrets it. He thinks he’ll stick to _just_ drinking from now on.

He coughs roughly, maybe five minutes later, after his body seems to have emptied most of the toxic substances. He spits in the heap of waste at his feet. Wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

He feels disgusting. He knows he looks disgusting too. He moves to the other side of the curb to avoid smelling the putrid pile of vomit he just produced and slumps on the slab of concrete with a heavy sigh.

He makes a mental note—not to attend another house party. _Ever_.

“That’s unrealistic.” He murmurs. He amends the mental note, promising himself he won’t go to another house party _at least_ until the end of the year.

He tilts his head up at the sky. The summer air is humid, even at night, when it’s significantly cooler. It’s still thick and clinging to him. His skin is so sensitive that the sweat on him feels alive, crawling out of his pores and across the expanse of his arms and legs. The moon glows over his head, but it doesn’t look like the moon he knows. It’s pissing him off. The world around him feels sickly bare, like it’s been stripped of everything that makes it home.

_It’s the drugs,_ Hinata tells himself. _The world is the same, you’re just off a tab, you idiot_.

Even so, he can’t look at it. The trees look strange to him. They look _scary_. A bunch of gangly shadows that loom over him like monsters.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” He pants, threading his fingers through his hair and grabbing tightly, pulling until it stings, willing his loud, violent mind to be _quiet_.

His eyes are screwed shut, but visions dance behind his eyelids. He can’t stop it. There’s nothing he can do about it. He is completely helpless. He is all alone. He’s going to have a bad trip all by himself, in the middle of _nowhere_ —

“Hinata! _Jesus_ —fuck—there you are!”

It’s Kageyama. Except, it can’t be. Hinata ran _so_ _far._ There’s no way Kageyama would come all the way out here just for him. He must be hallucinating. Is his brain really going to torture him with the idea of Kageyama being here with him when he’s not?

There are footsteps drawing closer. Hinata’s heart pounds.

“Hinata, what the—are you _okay_?” He sounds worried.

Hinata opens his eyes. The world has stopped being weird, it seems. He’s still reeling, but at least the trees aren’t morphing into creatures anymore.

Kageyama is standing in front of him, looking very real. His chest is heaving and hands are resting above his head. He’s looking down at Hinata with a pained expression. Even like this, he shimmers underneath the moonlight, like he was meant to be there. Perhaps he’s a child of the night—of the moon.

“You vomited,” Kageyama says, casting a disgusted glance to the side. He’s always stating the obvious. What a guy.

Hinata nods, then swallows roughly. “I’m tripping balls right now, man.”

Kageyama’s arms drop to his sides. He holds his hand out. “Yeah, I can tell. Can you stand?”

Hinata blinks the filmy blur from his eyes. Stares at Kageyama’s hand, big and sturdy and smooth with slender, manicured fingers. “I don’t... know... if I want to.” He imagines if he tried, he could probably stand upright, but he is riddled with nausea. He’d rather not. “Is that okay?” He breathes.

Kageyama purses his lips. He seems to be contemplating something. Hinata wishes he could hear his thoughts. Or, maybe even see them. Just open his head and stare straight into his pretty thoughts. He wonders what they’d consist of. If they’d be grey and white like a vintage photo or full of color like a fresh garden of flowers. Hinata thinks he would like either one.

“Okay.” Kageyama agrees finally. He takes a seat next to Hinata on the curb. “You really didn’t take any of your stuff, huh?”

“Hm? Oh.” He glances at his toes. Wiggles them. “Yeah. I was too scared to stop and look for my shit.”

Kageyama’s head bobs in understanding. “You’re such a dumbass.” He replies quietly.

Hinata chuckles. He already knows that. There are tears in his eyes again for some reason. He can’t stay focused on the ground anymore. Not when Kageyama is right here—not when Kageyama came _looking_ _for_ _him_.

“Why did you leave?” Hinata blurts. He forces himself to look at him, at this raven boy. This moon boy.

Kageyama seems confused. His dark eyebrows have knitted themselves tight and his pretty pink mouth has turned itself downward. “Leave... the party?”

“Duh,” Hinata says impatiently, squirming on the curb. He needs to know. He won’t be able to sleep if it’s his own fault.

“Same reason you left. The fuckin’ cops showed up.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “ _Duh_.” He imitates.

Now Hinata is confused. Because Kageyama was gone _before_ that. He disappeared while he was dancing. “But... when I was...” he flushes profusely. Now that he’s remembering the way he’d writhed on a kitchen table, it feels a bit embarrassing. “When I was dancing you, like, vanished. I looked in the crowd and you were gone.”

Kageyama stares at him blankly. It makes Hinata feel nervous. “I left the kitchen to find a clean cup. So I could pour you some water. You looked really hot.” He says, then his cheeks immediately brighten, a raw scarlet color. “N-Not _hot_ , but like you were sweating and stuff. So I thought—“ He coughs. “ _Water_.”

If Hinata didn’t feel stupid before, he definitely feels stupid now. “Oh.”

“What? Did you think I just left the party without you?” He asks, and he sounds offended. “You think I’m that much of an asshole?”

“I just thought—“ Hinata takes a shaky breath. He doesn’t think Kageyama’s an asshole. Kageyama is blunt at times, but he _always_ means well. That’s part of why Hinata likes him so damn much. _Loves_ him. “You don’t even like parties, but I dragged you to one anyway. I didn’t even stick with you the whole time, like I promised. I was just... acting stupid.”

Kageyama hums thoughtfully. A throaty, hollow noise. “You _were_ acting stupid.” he agrees, “And that’s why I couldn’t just leave.”

Hinata holds his breath. The sound of his heartbeat has amplified. It’s three in the morning. He’s sitting on a curb with Kageyama Tobio, the boy he’s in love with. He has so much to say, but no idea how to say it.

Kageyama continues, “You were being irresponsible and stupid and you weren’t thinking about your body. At _all_. By the way, I know the reason you kept slipping away from me while I was distracted, was so you could keep taking shit. ‘Cause you knew I would’ve stopped you if you tried it in front of me.” He glares. Hinata shrinks into himself, ashamed of his own behavior. “But whatever. You were having fun, so I just... I just thought ‘Okay, I’ll make sure he gets home safe. I can at least do that.’”

Hinata clenches his fists. He feels like _such_ a fucking idiot.

“But then the cops showed up. And you disappeared. I swear I almost... God, do you have any idea how worried I was, you fucking _moron_?” Kageyama’s voice is rough with anger. Eyes lit with controlled rage.

Hinata’s cheeks are wet again. “I’m sorry.” He whispers.

Kageyama blinks twice, and all the anger dissolves. There’s concern there now, all shiny and earnest and boring into Hinata with an intensity that makes him tremble. “It’s _fine_. I’m not mad at you... I’m just glad you’re safe. Really.” Kageyama moves closer to him. So close their hips are touching. “Stop being sad about it, dumbass.”

“I’m not sad.” Hinata sniffles.

“You’re... literally crying.”

“I am not—“ he sobs, wiping at his cheeks. Fresh tears spring out from the corners of his eyes. “Okay, maybe I’m crying a little bit.”

Kageyama snorts, shaking his head. Hinata can see the way his hair shifts (like _swoosh_ ) even through his tear blurred vision.“What the hell did you take, anyway?”

“Um. A lot.” Hinata chokes.

“That? Doesn’t answer my question?” Kageyama sighs. He sounds tired. Hinata feels tired too. His limbs ache dully. Distantly. He’ll feel it in full force when he wakes up tomorrow. “Just tell me.”

Hinata pouts, “I took ... an acid tab... with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.”

Kageyama narrows his eyes instantly.

“Whatever you’re thinking—don’t do it. It’s not their fault.” Hinata says quickly. “I’m a grown man, you know. I make my own choices.”

Kageyama clucks his tongue, “If you’re grown, then act like it. Take responsibility for yourself.”

_He’s right_.

And something inside of him erupts.

“You’re right,” Hinata says. He stands up then, maybe a little too quickly, because his head spins like he’s on an amusement park ride. He steadies himself and looks down, directly into Kageyama’s eyes. “I need to take responsibility for everything in my life.”

Kageyama regards him with bemusement. “Um. Yeah. That’s what I just said.”

“ _Everything_.” He repeats firmly. His mind is racing at the same pace as his troubled heart. This is something separate from the drugs, he thinks. This intoxicating feeling is one that smothers him warmly. It spreads from his chest until it burns from his ears to his toes. There’s no drug that could do this to him. But there is a boy who could, and he’s right here. “Even my feelings.”

Kageyama is properly puzzled now. He’s frowning deeply, eyes searching Hinata’s face like he’ll find the answers in his freckles. He won’t, though. For years, Hinata hoped maybe he would. That he’d just look at him and suddenly know how he felt, but that was impossible. So, he needs to take responsibility now.

He needs to _say_ it.

“Hinata, what—“

“ _I’m in love with you!_ ” He nearly screams.

The world goes silent.

The moon and stars are staring down at them, breathing out a sigh in the form of night clouds. _Finally_. They say.

Kageyama’s eyes are wide.

Hinata tongue is like lead in his mouth, but he’s too wound up to stop. He keeps going. “I’ve been in love with you for... since... I don’t even know, okay? All I know is you make me crazy. Literally—I danced on a fucking table. Because I knew you would be watching, Kageyama. You drive me up a fucking wall—I _love_ you.”

The silence hangs in the air a while longer. Hinata uses these quiet moments to catch his breath, though every huff of air is like fire igniting in his lungs.

And Kageyama speaks, “You _what_?”

Hinata’s hands are shaking, but he holds his ground. “I love you, Kageyama Tobio.”

Kageyama’s face goes a rather lovely shade of hot pink. He covers his ears. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Is it the drugs? How high are you right now, man?”

Hinata shakes his head. He’s feeling strangely sobered right now. “I’m serious. I love you.” The more he says it, the more _right_ it feels in his mouth. He smiles. “I _love_ you. Holy shit.”

“Wh-Why are you smiling? Dumbass!” Kageyama draws his hands away from his ears and covers his eyes instead. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have a fever or some shit?”

“Guess you could say I’m.... _lovesick_.”

Kageyama groans, “Okay, I’m taking you home. You’ve officially lost it.” His face is still full and blooming with bright reds and pinks. He looks _cute_. “Fuckin’... love... and shit... God, you’re crazy.” He mumbles, taking Hinata by the wrist and dragging him down the street.

“Crazy in _love_.”

“I’ll kill you,” Kageyama says, but his voice is soft. The threat falls flat. Hinata grins. He could get used to this. A flustered and more gentle Kageyama.

When Hinata tears his wrist from Kageyama’s grip and entwines their fingers instead, Kageyama doesn’t say a single word in protest.

They hold hands the whole way home.

(In the morning, Kageyama will ask nervously, and maybe _hopefully_ , if Hinata remembers anything from last night.

Hinata will smile and say it again— _I love you_.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is what word vomit looks like. i wrote all of this in one day idek what i was doing what the hell is this!!!!!!!!
> 
> oh hey my twitter is k4gehin4 if anyone wants to chat


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